


Heartlines

by Charmsilver



Series: Fives [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Awkward Sexual Situations, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 04:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11223531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmsilver/pseuds/Charmsilver
Summary: Skate Canada is upon them, and Otabek and Yuri navigate some new terrain. It doesn't all go to plan.





	Heartlines

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read this fic, go and listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svZ666KgWqM) and tell me it isn't the perfect Otayuri theme song. 
> 
> Now for the notes.
> 
> First off, I confess that this fic has nothing to do with the number 5. Sorry.
> 
> Secondly, despite what most fics would have you believe, sex can be awkward. It can be bad. Even between people who love each other a lot. Especially between people who don't communicate their wants and needs well. It's just how it goes sometimes, and like most things it gets better with practice, and talking. Otabek and Yuri are still learning about each other but they're gonna get there in the end, don't worry.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.

Otabek is nervous.

In the back of the taxi he sits beside his coach and stares out the window at the city lights rushing past. Vancouver is familiar to him in a way that no other city in the world is apart from Almaty; even now, in the heavy darkness of the late evening, Otabek recognises certain street corners where he used to wait to cross the road.

There’s a light rain falling, which is familiar too, and Otabek presses the tips of his fingers into his thigh as he tracks the sweep of the water over the pane.

Some song prickles through the heavily heated air of the cab, the volume turned so low that Otabek can barely hear the lyrics.

_I wanna feel your heartlines. I wanna feel your heart._

It’s good, Otabek thinks vaguely, before returning his attention to the misty view outside, neon lights calling to him in garish hues.

His coach shifts minutely and says, “you should get some sleep as soon as we get to the hotel.”

Otabek inclines his head to indicate that he agrees but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Their flight had been delayed by several hours due to bad weather, and by the time they reached Vancouver Airport it was already ten o’clock at night. It’s nearing eleven now, and Otabek still hasn’t had a chance to connect to wifi and send a message to Yuri.

At the thought of Yuri, Otabek’s nerves refocus. They’ve been dating for nearly a year now, but it’s been months since they last saw each other somewhere other than the Skype interface. He thinks about Yuri’s pale face, his absurdly beautiful yellow hair and the tiny sighs he makes when Otabek runs his hands through it.

He misses that an awful lot.

The car pulls up at the hotel and Otabek stretches the stiffness from his legs as the driver retrieves his luggage from the back. He thanks her and follows his coach up the steps and into the warm interior of the hotel where a concierge greets them politely. As soon as they step into the elevators Otabek feels himself flagging, his eyes growing heavier by the minute. At the door of his room his coach bids him goodnight and he stuffs the keycard in the slot to unlock the door, revealing a sparse but comfortable space.

Otabek kicks off his shoes, throws his bag on the floor, and finds the wifi password stuck to the wall. He enters it into his phone and winces when a flurry of notifications causes his phone to ping incessantly for thirty seconds straight.

Most are texts from Yuri, which Otabek opens and reads hurriedly.

 _I’m at the hotel_ , the first one reads, followed by:

_text me when you get here. We’re going out later if you wanna come_

_god Victor is so embarrassing_

_the press are here too_

_I’m not leaving my room until you get here. There are some girls downstairs and I’m pretty sure they’re lying in wait for me_

_where are you?_

_has your flight arrived yet?_

_we’re going out now to some place called Hummingbird. come find us later._

_seriously beka victor is already trying to take his clothes off WHERE ARE YOU._

_he’s not even drunk he just likes to make Katsuki blush. ugh._

_ok. well. we’re going back to the hotel now. see you there?_

_it’s late. I’m going to bed…. text me when you’re here_

Otabek sighs in the general direction of his phone and begins to type out a message.

_Yuri, I just arrived. Plane was delayed by a few hours. Sorry I missed dinner. You’re probably asleep right now so I’ll see you tomorrow._

He’s shucking off his t-shirt when his phone lights up with Yuri’s reply. Otabek fumbles for the device and squints at it.

_Room number?_

Heart suddenly beating faster than before, Otabek types _219_ and throws his phone back on the bed as if it’s burned him. He feels like he should tell Yuri not to come. They both need to sleep well the night before the competition.

But the thought of seeing Yuri is too enticing and he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed, half undressed, hoping he doesn’t smell too bad even though he hasn’t showered.

After what feels like an age, he hears a rapid knocking on his door and he rises to open it.

Yuri stands there, dressed in ridiculous cat-print pyjamas that have the word _Supurrior_ interspersed randomly between pictures of various writhing felines. It is definitely the worst pun Otabek has ever seen.

“Hey,” Otabek says, registering dimly that he’s not wearing a shirt, and that Yuri is staring.

Yuri doesn’t respond, just throws himself bodily into Otabek’s arms, flinging his own around Otabek’s middle and burying his nose into Otabek’s bare shoulder. He’s bed-warm and his hair smells like apples and Otabek wants to hold him like this forever and never let go.

But, of course, it’s eleven o’clock at night and they’re standing in the middle of a hotel hallway and Otabek isn’t wearing a shirt.

“Yuri,” he murmurs into Yuri’s hair. “I need to shut the door.”

Yuri tightens his hold and says, a little petulantly, “you _need_ to kiss me, actually.”

Otabek grins. “I will as soon as I’ve shut the door.”

This earns him a growl, but Yuri shoves them forward, leaving enough room for Otabek to let the door swing closed behind them. Then he lifts his palms to Yuri’s cheeks and meets his lips in a soothing kiss that makes Otabek’s whole body shiver.

“I missed you,” Yuri breathes into the space between them. “I missed you, asshole,” and he sounds so close to sobbing that Otabek feels panic rise in his throat.

He clutches Yuri to his chest and says, “I missed you too.”

After a beat, Yuri pulls away entirely. He looks exhausted, and Otabek knows he looks the same. “I need to shower,” he tells Yuri, “you should go back to bed.”

Yuri gives him a severe look and stalks towards Otabek’s bed, pulls back the covers, and slides right in as if Otabek had been the one to walk into Yuri’s room and not the other way around.

Otabek stares at Yuri, startled, and Yuri stares back, defiant and also a little bit sleepy. Which fucks with Otabek’s head and makes him say, “okay,” instead of, “go back to your own bed before our coaches both have aneurysms.”

After his shower, Otabek emerges into the room and sees Yuri fast asleep, legs and arms tucked beneath the cream-coloured sheets.

As Otabek slides under the covers, Yuri curls up against his body and presses his warm hands against Otabek’s hip and stomach. “No fooling around,” Yuri informs Otabek’s clavicle in a soft, drowsy voice that sends shockwaves all the way to Otabek’s toes. He tucks his hand into the dip of Yuri’s spine and pulls him closer, wondering if he’s already dreaming.

“No fooling around,” he agrees, eyes drifting shut.

***

Yuri blows everybody away with his short programme. He swerves off the ice to raucous applause, ignoring the stuffed cats that litter his path. Yakov says something in Yuri’s ear and Yuri nods, face stoic as he stomps his way to the Kiss and Cry.

Their eyes meet briefly; Yuri smirks and Otabek manages a wry smile, his face burning.

Honestly, Otabek hadn’t known that Yuri could be so… seductive. He has always been ethereal on the ice, almost inhuman, entirely untouchable.

Today he brought the audience to their feet for a completely different reason; when he took to the ice he bewitched every single person in the arena with a sinister, sultry sweetness that made Otabek’s tracksuit feel much, much too hot. Yuri’s costume is a navy, full-body leotard, studded with sequins and coloured with a purple pattern on the back that swirls in complex lines beginning at his shoulders and tapering off at the small of his back. There, a slight, diamond-shaped hole reveals a tantalising sliver of skin that Otabek wishes he could drown in.

The noise of the crowd erupts suddenly, startling Otabek out of his thoughts. Yuri’s scores have just been announced: 101.76. Not his best, but certainly better than many of the hopeful skaters here today could even come close to. If that was Yuri warming up, Otabek is certainly going to die at the Grand Prix Final.

He takes a deep breath and goes to stand beside his coach; he’s on after the next skater, and he needs to focus on something other than the tilt of Yuri’s hips or he might injure himself.

Otabek hears – screamed amidst the rising cheers – Yuri’s customary _Davai_ as he pushes off onto the ice, and he pretends for the next two and a half minutes that winning is all that he cares for.

As the tumult fades, Otabek bows to the audience and skates for the exit, scooping up a bear dressed in a raincoat and boots on his way. On the sidelines his coach grins at him and claps him on the back. He did well, he already knows it, and excitement thrums beneath his skin.

The score is read out and Otabek huffs in surprise. 110.98. A good score. A great score. Not a record, but certainly a personal best. Otabek’s mouth splits into a grin and he waves at the cameras, knowing his whole family is watching. He’s in first place now, ahead of Yuri, and it feels triumphant.

Katsuki is still to skate, however, and Otabek knows he shouldn’t get ahead of himself.

He forgets everything when Yuri appears around the corner and sprints towards Otabek, yelling “What the _FUCK_ , Altin!” as he tackles Otabek into a tight embrace and grips his shoulder blades with the tips of his fingernails.

Otabek’s arms go around him automatically and two of his fingers slip inadvertently into the tiny gap at the back of Yuri’s costume. His breath hitches and he freezes, exhaling a hot puff of air over Yuri’s shoulder.

“Yuri,” he croaks, shuddering. “Yura.”

Yuri pulls away quickly and looks at Otabek with unexpected concern. “What?” he asks. Then, when Otabek flexes his fingers on Yuri’s spine, he presses back minutely into Otabek’s touch and his eyes widen in surprise.

Without saying another word, he tugs on Otabek’s arm and drags him into the adjacent hallway, dodging reporters who are desperately trying to get a statement from Otabek about his performance. Otabek follows blindly, still high on adrenaline and unable to take his eyes off the cut of Yuri’s jaw.

“Yuri,” he tries, but the Russian ignores him until they’re sequestered away in some room upstairs, both panting heavily as Yuri locks the door behind them and shoves his tongue into Otabek’s mouth. It’s hot, wet, and fast, and Otabek grunts, lifting Yuri off the floor so that he can wrap his legs around Otabek’s hips. They kiss until Otabek’s arms ache and his knees buckle, and only then does Yuri lurch backwards, an obscene shine of spit on his lips.

Yuri looks wild and a little scared and Otabek lowers him back to the ground and says, in a haze of arousal as thick as smog, “are you all right?” He deliberately keeps his gaze no lower than Yuri’s chest.

Yuri breathes in and out a couple of times and stares at Otabek as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Um,” he says, swallowing loudly. “I don’t know.” His eyes flick low and Otabek feels his face heat up, knowing what Yuri can see between his legs. “You –“ he says, raising his eyes back to Otabek’s face. “You’re –“

They blink at each other and Otabek’s head starts to clear as the heat of the moment dissipates. “I’m sorry, Yuri,” he says. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Yuri glares at him and for a brief second Otabek thinks he’s ruined everything forever, until Yuri says, “don’t be stupid. I was the one who dragged you up here. I wanted to. I mean –” he hesitates, eyes flickering low again and then back. “We were – were we going to –?”

Otabek shuts his eyes for a second and allows his lungs to inflate. “I think so,” he says. “I lost my head,” he admits. “Your skate –“ he exhales slowly and meets Yuri’s eyes.

“My skate?” Yuri prompts.

Otabek licks his lips. “I’ve never seen you be so... you were like a Siren, “ he babbles, the word coming to him suddenly, “calling out to me and making me lose my mind.”

Instead of recoiling from Otabek’s words, Yuri smirks. “Wow,” he says. “Did I really make you feel like that?”

“Yes,” Otabek says without hesitation. “Yuri.” He steps forward and cups Yuri’s face in his palms. “How am I going to survive this season?”

Yuri laughs as Otabek kisses him chastely on the mouth. “You aren’t,” he says. “I told you that you would regret the music choice.”

Otabek huffs into Yuri’s braid. “I still don’t regret it.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Yuri presses his body into Otabek’s, warm and affectionate and lacking any of the heat from earlier. “We should go,” he says after a while, nuzzling Otabek’s collarbone. “We’ve missed Yuuri.”

“Mm,” Otabek half-heartedly agreed, wishing they could simply go straight back to the hotel.

Gently, Yuri extricates himself from Otabek’s arms and takes his hand. “By the way,” he says as they descend the staircase into the main foyer. “Congratulations on your score. Personal best, right?”

“Yeah,” Otabek says, grinning suddenly. “Thanks.”

***

Later, after the day’s events have come to a close, Yuri drags Otabek out to dinner with Victor and Katsuki. They go to some tiny restaurant just around the corner from the hotel and hide in a corner booth, away from the eyes of fans.

“Didn't you train in Vancouver for a while?” Victor asks Otabek after they've ordered.

“A year,” Otabek confirms.

“Wow!” Victor looks genuinely interested in this piece of information. “How did you find it?”

Otabek shrugs. “It's a nice city, but it was only ever supposed to be temporary.”

“Did you make any local friends?”

Otabek thinks about the various people he met during his time in Canada: his rinkmates, the DJs at the clubs he worked. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Oh!” Victor perks up. “Do you keep in touch?”

Beside him, Otabek senses that Yuri is watching him carefully. “Only when I'm in town. Sometimes I DJ at my old clubs.”

“Cool!” Victor exclaims.

Yuri scowls. “That's right,” he says, “Otabek is way cooler than you'll ever be, Victor.”

Victor wisely ignores this. “Are you doing any shows this time? Could we come along! I'd love to dance at a real Canadian club!”

Yuri rolls his eyes and Katsuki says, “Victor! Did you forget what happened last time?”

Otabek hopes he won't ever have to know what did happen last time, and is thankfully spared the details by the arrival of their food.

Yuri digs in immediately, growling, “about time! I'm starving.”

They eat quietly, and when the food is mostly gone, Otabek feels Yuri leaning his body weight against Otabek’s side, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. Otabek ignores the knowing glances that pass between Victor and his husband, and curves an arm behind Yuri, pulling him closer.

Yuri hmms and his eyes drift shut. It's a rare display of public affection and Otabek’s heart trips over itself when Yuri mumbles, “stop staring,” at the overjoyed couple opposite them.

Eyes positively sparkling, Victor suggests that they all head back to the hotel and Otabek agrees, nudging Yuri to get him to stand up. He grumbles as he does so, sticking close to Otabek’s side as they duck out of the restaurant and make their way down the street. Victor rambles on animatedly but Otabek barely listens, his attention focussed on Yuri’s warmth and the way he grips Otabek’s arm.

Victor and Katsuki bid them goodnight in the hallway, leaving the two of them alone. Otabek looks to Yuri’s door, then his own, but Yuri grouses and says, “don't even think about sleeping without me. I'm going to brush my teeth, I'll be there in five minutes.” He disappears into his room, leaving Otabek blinking in the hall, endlessly blindsided by Yuri's boldness.

Alone in his own room, Otabek gets into his pyjamas, making sure to wear a shirt this time. Yuri knocks as Otabek’s in the middle of brushing his teeth, and he answers the door with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. Yuri slips past him, clad in those same absurd pyjamas, and gets straight into the bed, head propped up on the pillows as he watches Otabek finish up his nightly routine.

He looks gorgeous and Otabek shakes off an insistent desire to crawl over him in all fours and kiss him senseless. Instead he slides into the bed beside him and places a kiss to Yuri’s forehead. Yuri smiles and presses their lips together, then he cuddles closer, slinging a leg up and over Otabek’s hip.

The heady tension of earlier has all but disappeared from their touches, but Otabek still feels a little thrill of anticipation run up his spine when Yuri places a sleepy, open-mouthed kiss against his collar.

***

After the final score is read out, the announcer declares the skaters who will share the podium:

“ _In third place – Yuri Plisetsky of Russia_!” The crowd erupts into cheers. “ _In second place – Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan_!”

He is still finding it a little hard to believe that he beat Yuri, whose performances were extraordinary, but the medal around his neck fills him with pride.

“ _In first place – Yuuri Katsuki of Japan_!”

Roars and screams fill the arena as Yuuri lifts his hands to the audience and beams. From the sidelines, Victor cheers louder than anybody else and brushes tears from his eyes.

Yuri scowls, but his face is flushed and Otabek thinks he looks happy, despite not having placed higher. He meets Otabek's gaze and nods in silent congratulations. Otabek responds in kind, his mouth ticking up at the corner.

All around them, the cameras flash without stopping.

Afterwards Yuri demands that they go to one of the clubs Otabek used to DJ at. Nineteen now, Yuri can drink legally in British Colombia, and there's little chance of him passing up the opportunity. Victor and Yuuri accompany them, though they disappear almost as soon as they arrive, and Otabek spots them several minutes later on the dance floor, grinning at each other as they sway with the music.

Otabek squints up at the DJ’s booth but he doesn't recognise the girl behind the glass. From somewhere behind him a voice calls his name loudly and he turns to see Dylan, one of his old friends from Vancouver, who pulls him into a one-armed hug. “Otabek!” he says, surprised. “Didn't know you were in town!”

“Hello Dylan,” Otabek greets, nodding at him.

“Are you here for a competition?” He asks, raising his voice above the din of the club.

Otabek nods. “How are you?”

Dylan grins and sticks his thumbs up to indicate that he’s doing well, then his eyes slide to Yuri, who’s still standing beside Otabek, a wary expression on his face. “Who’s this? Wait.” Dylan’s eyes widen a little. “You’re that skater!”

Yuri might hiss but Otabek can’t hear it. He puts a hand at the small of Yuri’s back and says, “this is Yuri Plisetsky. We’re dating.”

Dylan’s eyes widen even further. “Oh!” he says. “Nice. Good to meet you, Yuri.” He sticks out his hand and Yuri takes it grudgingly. “Anyway,” Dylan continues, “I wish we could catch up properly but I’m on in five. I’ll see ya round, yeah?” At Otabek’s nod he steps back and vanishes into the crowd of dancing clubbers, leaving the two of them alone again.

Otabek glances at Yuri. “He’s an old friend,” he supplies, switching back to Russian. “A DJ too.”

“Hm,” Yuri says with disinterest, craning his neck to see where the bar is. “Can we get a drink now?”

They wedge their way through the sea of people and alight at the bar where Yuri immediately orders a rum and coke. Otabek gets a beer and they stand by the wall, watching as Victor clears a space in the middle of the dance floor, his movements just as captivating off the ice. After a while Otabek’s gaze turns to Yuri, who is tapping his finger against his glass in time with the beat. The lighting of the club makes it hard to read his expression, but Otabek is pretty sure he knows what Yuri wants.

“You should join them,” he says, bending a little to shout in Yuri’s ear. “You can’t let Victor have all the fun.”

Yuri turns to look at Otabek. “Don’t you want to dance with me?” he asks, eyes flashing, mouth twisting into a frown.

Otabek feels heat rush to his face. “I don’t dance,” he explains.

Yuri’s eye twitches. “You don’t dance?” he says incredulously. “You’re a skater and you don’t dance? What the fuck, Otabek.”

“I –“ Otabek huffs out a breath. He looks up at the DJ station where Dylan is just about to take over for the night. “I’m not –“ he stops again, frustrated at himself. “Sorry, Yuri.”

Yuri is staring at him with a mix of confusion and irritation. “Dance with me,” he demands. He curls his fingers around Otabek’s bicep and tugs lightly. When that doesn’t work, he leans in close, drops his hands to Otabek’s hips, and seals their lips together in a bruising kiss that sets Otabek’s whole body on fire. His tongue darts out to wet Otabek’s bottom lip and then he darts away, leaving Otabek dazed and panting against the wall.

“Dance with me,” Yuri says again, and this time it’s a promise, not a demand.

Otabek sucks in a deep breath and follows Yuri onto the dance floor. Yuri immediately starts to move with the music and for the first five minutes Otabek does nothing but stare.

Where the fuck did Yuri learn to dance like that anyway?

Victor cheers as a circle starts to clear around Yuri, but Yuri has other ideas; he surges forward and pulls Otabek against him until their bodies are flush. It’s not dirty, but the way Yuri moves his body against Otabek’s is sensuous and enticing, and Otabek feels like a bull dancing with a swan.

But Yuri doesn’t seem to care; he grips Otabek’s hips with white fingers and sort of shimmies, curving his spine backwards to expose his neck. Otabek simply follows Yuri’s lead, willing the alcohol in his blood to provide some elasticity to his limbs.

The music transitions into something a little slower and the crowd starts to surround them again, making Otabek feel a little more relaxed. He slips his arm around Yuri’s waist, pulls him close.

_We could fool the datelines_

_We could jump the statelines_

_I don’t wanna always play nice_

_But I wanna feel your heartlines._

It’s that song from the taxi, Otabek realises, as Yuri’s hair tickles his cheek. From somewhere to his left, Yuuri looms into Otabek’s line of sight, a red tint to his cheeks and a happy grin on his face.

“Hey,” he says, a little out of breath. “We’re going to get something to eat next door. Do you want to join us?”

Otabek looks down at Yuri who turns his head but leaves it resting on Otabek’s shoulder. “No,” he says plainly. “Go be disgusting on your own.”

Yuuri’s cheeks redden but his grin widens even further and he shoots Otabek an amused look. “Okay,” he says, “ _poka-poka_.” The little Russian he knows trips off his tongue awkwardly, but it’s endearing all the same. As Yuuri disappears into the crowd looking for Victor, Otabek tucks his mouth in close to Yuri’s ear.

“Are we still dancing?” he asks.

Yuri hums and presses himself closer, lips a warm presence on Otabek’s neck. “Beka,” he says, voice low and a little hoarse. “Take me back to the hotel.”

It seems to Otabek that the temperature of the room suddenly skyrockets. He nods, heart beating much too fast.

They emerge from the heat of the club into the frigid Vancouver air and begin to retrace their steps. Yuri says nothing, just stares at Otabek with hard, determined eyes, and Otabek isn’t sure if it’s Yuri’s gaze or the cold that’s making him shiver so.

They barely touch until they’re inside Otabek’s room, and then Yuri’s hands are all over him, pushing him against the wall and tugging at his jacket. Otabek throws it off and then lifts his palms to Yuri’s jaw, cradling his face as their kisses grow more desperate. Yuri’s fingers ruck up the bottom of Otabek’s shirt and slide over the skin of his stomach, making Otabek huff in surprise. In response, he curls his fingers over Yuri’s hips and tugs, forcing their lower bodies to align.

Yuri’s breath hitches and he mewls in surprise, dropping his lips to Otabek’s collar, where he presses wet open-mouthed kisses over the bones. Otabek rocks their hips together, revelling in the tiny, breathless noises that Yuri makes with every slide of their growing erections.

Otabek tips his head back as Yuri continues to kiss a trail down his neck; when he reaches the collar of his shirt, Yuri growls with displeasure and pulls upwards on the hem. Obligingly, Otabek drags it off over his head and smiles dazedly when Yuri takes a tiny step back to simply stare at Otabek’s torso.

“Hey,” Otabek says, dragging Yuri back and kissing him again.

Yuri smiles wickedly against Otabek’s mouth and slots his knee in between Otabek’s legs. Otabek grunts in surprise, hands dropping down to palm Yuri’s ass; he grinds against Yuri’s thigh and tips his head back when overwhelming pleasure wells up inside him, suddenly and forcefully.

“Yura,” he breathes. “The bed.”

Yuri makes a sound of annoyance but Otabek absolutely refuses to do this against a wall; he practically carries Yuri to the bed and drops him onto it, quickly assuming a position above Yuri on all fours.

For a moment they are still, then Yuri reaches for him, touching his palms to Otabek’s chest and sliding them down, down until they’re hovering over the bulge in Otabek’s jeans. He meets Otabek’s eye, waiting for permission, and when Otabek jerks his head in a nod, his fingers curl around Otabek, sending a jolt of electricity up Otabek’s spine.

He drops his head to Yuri’s shoulder and groans.

***

Otabek wakes with a bad taste his mouth.

On the bed beside him Yuri sleeps with a slight scowl on his face, the sheets tangled around his bare legs. There’s a chill to the air and Otabek pulls the blanket over Yuri, laying it gingerly across his arms. Somewhere beside the bed Otabek finds his shirt and tugs it on, as well as his boxers, then he settles on his knees beside Yuri and squeezes his shoulder.

“Yuri,” he says softly, “wake up.”

Yuri’s scrunches his nose up, frowning, and when his eyes open he blushes furiously and glares resolutely at the opposite wall.

“Your coach will murder you if he finds you’re not in your room.”

But Yuri doesn’t move. He stays still as stone for several seconds, and then he curls in on himself, hiding his face from view.

Sighing, Otabek lies back down and cuddles Yuri from behind, tucking his knees into the bend of Yuri’s. “It’s all right,” he says, attempting to sound reassuring.

“Tch,” Yuri says, then, “it’s not.”

“It is.”

Yuri huffs. “It was awful,” he says. “Wasn’t it?”

“Hm.” Otabek hugs Yuri a little tighter. Honestly, it wasn’t the worst sex Otabek’s ever had, but it certainly wasn’t the best either. “Yura,” Otabek begins, hoping the use of the nickname will soften Yuri a little. “It can be like that sometimes. At first.” Yuri doesn’t respond to that, so Otabek forges on. “When you haven’t got to know each other yet. In – in that way.”

From somewhere beneath the blanket, Yuri makes a muffled sound of discontent. “Beka,” he says, “I wanted it to be good.” Otabek can hear him swallow, can hear his tiny grumble of frustration.

Otabek shuts his eyes and buries his face between Yuri’s shoulder blades. He feels at least partially responsible; they should have talked about it properly beforehand, but neither of them are particularly good at communicating, and their first time had suffered as a result. Still, Otabek is experienced enough to know that it just happens like that sometimes, and it will be better in the future. “I’m sorry,” he says into Yuri’s skin. “I wanted it to be good too. It will be next time, I’m sure of it.”

But Yuri’s distress is almost palpable as he curls up even further and lets out a hissing sigh between his teeth. “But when will that be?” His voice wavers a little, and Otabek holds him tighter. “The Grand Prix? That’s weeks away.”

There’s not much Otabek can say to that, because Yuri’s right. Between training and competitions, neither of them will have a chance to see each other until the Grand Prix, and even then there may be very few moments they can take for themselves. “We’ll manage,” he says somewhat lamely. “We’ve managed for this long.”

For a time, Yuri is silent and motionless in Otabek’s arms. “I just want you around,” he admits at last, pressing his back against Otabek’s chest. “I miss you all the time.”

“I know,” Otabek says, his heart aching. “So do I.”

They lie like that for a while, until both remember that Yakov will flay Yuri alive if he finds him missing from his hotel room. Yuri dresses slowly; he is unabashed about his nudity and Otabek tracks his movements as he stretches, wishing suddenly that he could pause time and pleasure Yuri with nothing but his mouth, giving him at least one gratifying memory to take away with him. But Russia is calling him, and Kazakhstan is pulling at Otabek’s shoulder, and both can’t ignore their responsibilities any longer.

Yuri laces up his shoes and stands, hands hanging loose at his sides; he takes one step towards the door, then pivots around to face Otabek again. “Give me your shirt,” he says.

Otabek blinks and remains still. “What?”

Eyes rolling, Yuri gestures at Otabek’s chest. “Your shirt. I want it.”

“Oh.” For a second Otabek is confused, then he understands. Quickly, he strips his top off and hands it to Yuri, who holds it tightly over his heart.

“Thanks.” Yuri just looks at him for a moment, his gaze direct but vulnerable. “Bye, then.”

Otabek steps forward and engulfs Yuri in his arms, not quite ready to let him go. Yuri laughs quietly and returns the hug before backing away, smiling all too softly at Otabek. “Bye,” he says again.

“See you,” Otabek replies, aching profoundly as Yuri turns the doorhandle and steps out of the room, leaving an emptiness in his wake.

It gets harder every time.

***

“Hey – can you hear me?” Yuri’s voice filters through the speakers on Otabek’s laptop and a moment later the video catches up, revealing a blur of yellow hair.

“Yes,” Otabek confirms.

There’s a loud rustling in Otabek’s ear, then Yuri’s pixelated face appears, grinning at the camera. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Thought the internet was gonna cut out for second. This hotel is seriously shit.”

Otabek raises an eyebrow. “I thought they were putting you up in _La Fontaine_?”

Yuri snorts. “Yeah, they were, but they changed it at the last minute. It sucks. The pillows here are like rocks.” He tosses his hair over his shoulder and shrugs. “Anyway. Isn’t there something you want to say to me?”

“Hm.” Otabek pretends to think hard. “What was it again? Oh, yeah.” He grins. “Congratulations on first place, Yura.”

“Thank you,” Yuri preens.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you in Nagoya.”

“I’m going to wipe the floor with you,” Yuri asserts, his confidence as unwavering as ever.

“We’ll see,” Otabek says.

They lapse into silence and Otabek allows himself to daydream about their reunion at the Grand Prix Final in Nagoya. It’s already been too long since they last saw one another in person, and he aches for Yuri in a way he doesn’t really understand yet.

“I was thinking…” Yuri begins, staring down at his fingers. “We should stay an extra night in Nagoya. Just the two of us.” He looks up at the camera, catching Otabek’s eye. “Well?”

“Yes,” Otabek agrees without hesitation; Yuri beams.

Yuri stands up from his seat and stretches, and Otabek realises that he’s wearing the t-shirt he gave him in Vancouver. It’s too big on him but the hem lifts as he stretches his arms, exposing bare thighs and skintight underwear. The sight is gorgeous and Otabek drinks it all in, eyes slowly roving upwards to see Yuri smirking, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Like what you see?” he teases.

Otabek doesn’t even pretend that he’s not affected by it. “Yuri,” he says, “you are beautiful.”

Instantly, a blush spreads over Yuri’s cheeks, but he looks delighted. “Just wait till Nagoya,” he promises, sitting back down and resting his head in his hands.

The Grand Prix Final seems awfully far away all of a sudden, but Otabek has been waiting for this long already.

He can wait a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: in case you were wondering, their second time is absolutely mind-blowing.


End file.
